


evergreen wasn't such a bad dream

by honeyyhop



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Deity!Phil, Deity!Technoblade, Deity!Wilbur, Family Dynamics, Fantasy AU, Found Family, Gen, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, god AU, just a dash of sbi family dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28494282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyyhop/pseuds/honeyyhop
Summary: As a God of the Overworld, Phil never expected to attach himself to mortal affairs, and certainly didn't expect to become the mentor to a pair of playful, naive shapeshifters.Tommy and Tubbo have never had anyone but each other - now, trained by Phil, there are new worlds to explore and new faces to see. But after months of training, Phil decides that they are ready for the ultimate challenge - his brothers, Gods of the End and Nether.
Comments: 19
Kudos: 155





	1. overworld

Winter had softened its grip on the world - its icy claws retreated, and the bitter frost that had coated the Overworld for months finally, thankfully, faded. Pale green shoots of grass sprang from the dark emptiness - and, with eager eyes, Phil, as that was the name he was using at the time, watched the trees become burdened with thick swells of foliage. The woods were alive once again, and thus, so was he. 

His spirit was bound and chained to the ever-flowing ripples of the Overworld, shifting and bending like a river. When the ice melted, he could break his slumber. Finally. 

He stretched, the tips of his wings quivering with the fresh Spring breeze, sitting cross-legged under the thick canopies, feeling the gentle warmth of the new season strengthen him. His blood was whole, bones sturdy. His body was complete just as the world was right. He tilted his chin upwards.

A gleeful chittering erupted from behind him, and as he dared to glance behind him, a pair of small critters sat on a fallen log, whiskers quivering. The larger of the two was a dappled polecat, with sharp needle-like teeth bared at him, body guarding the smaller brown and white stoat that sat behind it. 

Phil looked at them for a long moment, then allowed himself a brief chuckle. 

“Welcome back, boys.” 

In a soft glow of light, like a gentle burst of firelight, the polecat shifted. Sitting on the log was a lanky teen, blonde hair wildly curled and strewn with branches and leaves. The stoat followed its companion’s lead, and shifted into a boy too, slightly more reserved, tucking a dark coat around his body. He was slightly better groomed, his brown hair clean of the leaves that his friend had collected.

Tommy, and Tubbo. A pair of free spirited young boys, both of them orphans, not related by blood but had called themselves brothers nonetheless. From what Philza had gathered, they had been wandering the Overworld together for years, staying briefly in travelling camps where they could, but inevitably leaving one way or another. They were alone.

He didn’t know when he had started sympathising for mortals and their struggles, but something about them had tugged at his heartstrings.

When Tommy grinned, there were still wires fencing his teeth. Phil cocked his head. 

“Still nothing?” 

“I can’t find anyone that’ll take the stupid things off,” he muttered. 

From what Phil could understand - he had needed an explanation at first, not understanding these mortal concerns of the boys - Tommy had had braces put over his teeth many years ago, in a traveller’s camp. Now, with so many of the mortal populations scattered - or frowning upon the orphans with a tendency to cause mayhem wherever they went - he was struggling to find someone to take them off again. Many camps had turned the boys away, perhaps distrusting their wild, youthful eyes. 

Philza figured they just needed to put their energy into good use. They had skills, the both of them, there was no doubt about that.

“You’re far taller than last I saw you,” he noted. 

“I’m taller than Tubbo,” Tommy instantly burst out. 

“No - no, wait, you are  _ not.”  _

“Am too!” 

They stood up to compare heights, Tommy barking out protests. Phil watched, entertaining their arguing. He couldn’t comprehend the mortal way of aging. They were teenagers, surely, but last he had seen them they were… children. He felt infinite. With every passing season, he was the same. He rose and fell through every year like a tide - he existed beyond their years, body and soul connected solely to the world around him. But the boys had been gone for months while Phil slept through the Winter. They had left, boys, and came back… different. Changed. 

“Phil - Phil, Phil, look, it’s me, right? I’m clearly taller -” 

“Come on, it’s- clearly me.” 

“I’m bigger as an animal!” 

“That doesn’t  _ count!” _

“Enough,” he said calmly. 

“Phil, tell him-” 

“Hush, Tommy.” It took a few seconds for Tommy to derail from the tangent he was on, and fall quiet. Phil still felt startled when they used that human name on him; he wasn’t quite used to it just yet. 

When he had first introduced himself with God’s tongue to them, they had shared blank looks. 

“Yeah, I, uh, I ain’t remembering that,” Tommy had said. He didn’t have a shred of respect for the God at the time. 

“I’ll call you Phil,” Tubbo offered. 

“Yeah, Phil.” Tommy was laughing, so he had brushed it off as a joke, seeing no reason to go by a mortal name - but then they kept using it, and he couldn’t exactly stop them.

So that was that. 

“You came back to me for a reason,” he began, almost awkwardly. Year after year, in the warmer seasons, Tommy and Tubbo had been seeking him out in the woods where he dwelled. But if  _ they  _ didn’t turn up one season, he thought, would he go after them? Would he search for them? Was he  _ that  _ dependent on a pair of young orphans? 

Perhaps he was, just a little bit. Phil had an unfortunate habit of getting attached to things that didn’t last forever. 

Breakable things. 

He got to his feet, stretching his wings. 

“Do you think you still remember how to fight?”

“Of course we do.”

“I might be a little rusty,” Tubbo admitted. 

Phil wondered what those long months had felt like for them, while he was asleep, dormant through the Winter. They had been fighting to stay alive in the cold, bitter wild. He fought the feeling of - what,  _ guilt?  _ He knew fully well that he didn’t need to care about the fate of Tommy or Tubbo, but he found himself concerned for them nonetheless. Perhaps that was why he continued to train them every Spring and Summer, allowing them safe passage and shelter in his forest. 

“Prove it,” he said, with a crooked grin. He beckoned to both boys. “Follow.”

And with a mighty stroke of his wings, he was airborne. He was wind and sky, feathers dipping into the cloud cover, giving a playful swoop in exhilaration. Up so high, drifting farther and farther from his forest, he felt pressure sink into his chest. He was weaker when pulling away from the thread that tied him to the land, but it made him feel alive. To be mortal, even for a brief heartbeat, like the boys that sprinted below. He banked left, directing his body towards the broad, sweeping valley, now alive with tall grass, weeds and flowers.

He swept low enough to hear Tommy and Tubbo swearing and panting as they sprinted, and after a heartbeat of hesitation, they both shifted. So their stamina wasn’t as good as it could have been, Phil thought, but they were decently fast even in their animal forms. They scampered underneath him, chittering as he ducked too close, allowing his feathers to brush their sides. 

“Faster,” he said, and beat his wings. 

Once he deemed them far enough that he felt reasonably exhausted, but not enough to entirely lose himself, he plummeted and landed cleanly on both feet, shaking out his wings briefly before tucking them tightly against his back. He willed a long, iron tipped staff into his hand and twirled it. Tommy and Tubbo, in their animal forms, exploded out of the grass, stumbling slightly from the run. Tubbo was the first to near him, and the boy barely had time to shift out of his stoat form before Phil swung his staff. 

He let out a yell and scrambled back. He didn't protest - he knew by now not to expect mercy, despite Phil’s kindness outside of training. Tommy shifted as well, bouncing through the grass. 

“Go, Tubbo! Get him!” 

Phil tossed Tubbo his own staff and inclined his chin. “Come on, kid.” 

Tubbo was instantly ready to defend himself. It was a habit for him to wait for Phil to make the first move. When it became clear that Phil was leaning back, waiting for him to attack, he swung, aiming for Phil’s sides.

He grabbed the end of the staff and tugged, knocking Tubbo off of his feet. 

“Come on, Tubbo!” Tommy was cheering him on. “Go!” 

Tubbo shifted, and as a stoat he shot away, bouncing in the long grass. Phil forced himself to stay still, knowing that the teen was trying hopefully to lure him away. 

Tubbo shifted and tugged back his staff, holding it out in front of him, prepared to block. 

When Phil finally lunged, he was pleased to see Tubbo bursting into action. He was a flurry of fur and claws as he shifted, over and over, swinging his staff then bouncing from Phil’s cloak to shift in mid-air. It was clear that he had grasped a sense of control over his shifting since Phil had last trained him, and he even found it difficult to combat each of his strikes - although that was in part to being so distant from his forest. Tubbo was precise, controlled. 

Strike.

Parry. 

Again, and again. 

Phil allowed himself a brief smile. Despite himself, he was having  _ fun.  _ Childlike, mortal glee.

The boy was powerful, he dared to admit. Tubbo seemed to be carefully calculating every move only a heartbeat before he executed it, and only a brief flicker in his eyes would give it away. Phil had always known that Tubbo could be a good warrior, if given the opportunity to grow. 

But he was proud of the boy. 

He saw a shred of himself in Tubbo - if Phil had been born into a mortal body, they could have been brothers, even. Where Tommy burned, Tubbo simmered, and Phil could sympathise with him for that. 

That startled him, as if he hadn’t expected to feel that kind of… compassion for either of them. 

He was a mentor to these boys, guiding them through their powers and their fighting skills. That was it. He was a God - it was impossible for him to feel fatherly  _ love… _

Right? 

Surely.

The thought was enough for him to hesitate - enough for Tubbo to whack his staff into his left side. He doubled over, and felt the cold chill of iron against his neck. Tubbo was breathing heavily, but eyes expectant, waiting for him. 

“Good job, kid.” 

Tubbo just blinked. “Did I…?” 

“You won, Tubbo, you won!” Tommy crowed. He was ambitious, certainly, but Phil had noticed that they supported each other through every fight. He eyed them both. 

“Your turn.” 

He pointed his staff to Tommy. Tubbo handed his friend his own weapon, patting him on the back encouragingly. “You got this.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” 

He puffed out an eager breath, dancing around Phil. As he struck, Phil planting his heels into the ground to keep from being knocked down, he was surprised by the strength in Tommy’s blows. Where Tubbo was calculating every whisper of movement, Tommy was already in motion. Where Tubbo was ice, Tommy was fire. He burned with young, wild eagerness, lit with a feral delight from the battle. When he shifted, it was unpredictable - he flitted between polecat and human bodies, so fast that Phil could barely comprehend where Tommy was at any given moment. In one heartbeat, he struck with fur, teeth and claws - his favoured weapons - the next he was human again, swinging wildly with his staff. He struck Phil in the ribs and he bent over, wheezing, but managed to grasp one end of Tommy’s staff in his hand and tug, making the boy stumble briefly. It was just enough for him to back away. 

They had been practicing together, he realised, while he had been asleep in the Winter. Their fighting styles melted together perfectly. They had improved wildly since he had last seen them, and it was clear that they had worked hard to achieve the level they were now working at. In his forest, Phil wouldn’t be beaten so easily - but far away, his immortality thin and wavering, the boys had a better chance. And they were good at what they did, despite not having a lick of immortal blood in them - they had learned how to use and manipulate their shape-shifting talents. Together, they were a force to be reckoned with. 

Phil lifted a hand and Tommy hesitated, straightening, flashing a crooked grin despite being so out of breath. “Yeah! Yeah, I - ye - I won - didn’t I?” 

“Yes, Tommy, you won.” 

“ _ Yeah!”  _

Tubbo bounced over to them to fling an arm around his friend. “Yeah! We did it!” 

“Beat a  _ God!”  _

“We’re  _ better  _ than a God!” 

“Holy shit, we’re better than a God!” 

Phil just raised a brow, but he didn’t particularly care about the disrespect - he knew these boys, and they trusted him enough to feel safe in his presence. They had grown to feel secure under his wing, had raised them not particularly caring if they were loud or energetic. He knew that they hadn’t had the easiest life growing up - he knew that they looked to him for guidance. Who was he to deny them that? He had seen their hungry, desperate eyes, the way they clung to each other when walking through the woods. He had felt their pain, their need for a parent, a friend, an  _ ally,  _ even. 

And so he would become all of it, for the lost boys in his woods. 

In a startling flash of clarity, he knew it was time. 

“Come here, boys, both of you.” 

He beckoned them with a hand and began to trudge through the grass, his cloak billowing out behind him, listening to the crunch of the boys’ footsteps behind him as they followed obediently. He led them through the field, further and further away from the woods -  _ his  _ woods. 

To where he felt human. 

To where he could feel his heart. 

He paused where the grass turned to crumbling, scattered rock and the ground faltered away in a dark cliffside overlooking a broad stretch of ocean. The surface glittered like gemstones under a pale blue sky. He found himself unable to stifle the smile spreading across his features, tilting his chin up to the clouds.

He sat at the edge of the cliff, spreading his wings out to allow the sun to hit his feathers, watching sea spray crash close to his dangling feet with every wave that slapped the rocks. 

He was prepared to use his wings as a shield if Tommy or Tubbo were too energetic to see the cliff, but they slowed in time, coming to settle on either side of him. Even  _ they  _ seemed to be lost for words at the sight of the world stretched out before them, the sea and sky curled on a platter upon their very gazes, stilling whatever argument they could have crowed.

Tommy’s mouth was open. Neither him or Tubbo had wandered so far before, hadn’t comprehended the size of the world they inhabited. Neither of them had truly understood, growing up alone, feeling small and insignificant. This was bigger than both of them.

“It’s so…” Tubbo fumbled with his words. “So… I didn’t think the world was… like this…” 

“There’s more to this world than either of you could dare to dream of,” Phil said, and with that, he knew they were ready. He was, too.

“I’m going to take you both somewhere,” Phil announced, tucking his wings around the two boys in a bold movement of affection. Both of them seemed uncertain at first, even though neither of them had ever been afraid of him - he had never allowed them so close - but then Tubbo curled against his side, sheltered by his feathers, seeming suddenly more youthful than Phil had ever seen him. Tommy leaned back to rest his head against his wing, arms folded behind his neck comfortably. 

They had always needed him, even if they didn’t want to admit it. 

And in a sense, Phil needed them, too. 

“Where?” Tubbo mumbled. “Are we going away? But your… your… forest…” His words were crumbled by a yawn. 

“We’re not staying on this earth at all.” 

Both boys sat up, eyes suddenly wide and wild with eagerness. “Is this a  _ God  _ thing?” 

“Er, yes. It is.” 

“ _ Cool!”  _

“Since we’re better than a God, now we get to  _ be  _ Gods! That’s the way it works.” 

“Uh, no, no.” His breath caught in a chuckle. “No. We’re going to the realm of my brothers.” 

“Your family?” 

“You  _ have  _ family?” 

He tried to ignore it, but he couldn’t mistake the crestfallen expression on Tommy’s features, even if he tried to hide it, he still seemed concerned. As if he had lured himself into thinking Phil was just as lonely as them. Tubbo managed to swallow it, willing his face to be neutral. 

“Only one is my brother. The other… was often called my brother by mortals, but we share no blood-” 

“You don’t mean…  _ him.”  _

“Him?” 

“The… the Blood God.  _ That  _ God? Chaos - destruction - war?” Tubbo sat up in alarm.

“The very same.”

_ “The Blade?”  _

“Yes, Tubbo.” 

Tommy was grinning. “We’re going to the realm of the Blood God?” 

“Mhm.” 

_ “Cool!”  _

“This is gonna be the best trip ever!” 

“You’re not going to the Nether for a mere vacation,” Phil scolded, although he couldn’t fight his smile in return. “We’re going to go and have you meet him. And, if he’s in a particularly forgiving mood, fight him. Think of it as a family reunion of sorts.”

“A… family reunion?”

“Mine meets his, yes.” 

There was no mistaking the delighted grins that erupted from both of them as they twisted to look at him, eyes gleaming, their questions already tumbling out in a rush. 

“He won’t kill us, right?” 

“Does he have wings like you?”   
  


“Is he  _ mean?” _

“Are we really your family?” 

He hushed them into silence, waiting for them to stifle their excitement. “Uh. I can’t promise anything on his behalf. I’ll try not to let him kill you, how’s that for a deal?” Since he really didn’t want the children dead. He had grown too attached to their presence to let that happen. He also deliberately skidded around questions of love, and family, because those were things he wasn’t quite prepared to acknowledge at such a time. 

Tommy slowly settled back down, curled against his wing, and Tubbo slumped against his arm on his other side.

He was content, and that was enough. 

“We should get going,” he said quietly, afraid to disturb them, but neither of them moved, and Phil realised that he didn’t want to, either. 

_ Just for a little while,  _ he told himself, staring out into that blue expanse. 

But he was happy to stay for longer.

  
  



	2. nether

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Blood God doesn't take kindly to strangers...

  
Technoblade sensed their arrival, as he could for any creature that dared to venture into the Nether, but the feeling in his gut was  _ different,  _ somehow. He lifted his chin, the hairs on his arms standing on end, shuddering slightly with electricity spidering down his spine. He could feel the presence of small, insignificant mortals scurrying about in the Nether, that much he was certain, but there were only a few things that were powerful enough for him to recognise - beings  _ unpredictable  _ to the so-called  _ Blood God,  _ one of which being fellow deities. 

So he knew he wasn’t alone. One of his brethren had come to see him - but why? To beg him for his services in battle, perhaps? To urge some mortal war onwards in the Overworld? He had his own lands to tend to, and wasn’t interested in favours in the slightest. He didn’t owe anyone anything, save for…

_ Ah.  _

He felt that delicate warmth before he heard his brother - or so the mortals called him, though he thought of that Springtime God as more of a father if anything at all. That gentle breeze of Spring was nothing like Technoblade was used to; his Nether was all bright, angry flames and burning vengeance, and the cries of the souls of the damned. Not this soft, Summertime bullshit that his brethren dragged into his realm. Technoblade wasn’t fond of sunshine and sky. After so long in the Nether, lording over it as some kind of King, his eyes were so dependent on the darkness and dim caverns that he couldn’t bear anything else - not even the lava pools that covered over half of his territory. When a blurry shape appeared in the distance, it was already so  _ vivid,  _ a bright burst of static that made him shield his eyes with a pale hand. 

So it was easier for him to focus his attention on the slightly smaller shapes scurrying around the God’s legs eagerly, both of them lanky; both of them gripping staffs in their hands and swinging them restlessly as they explored the cavern. A pair of boys - and headstrong, too - he realised with no small amount of distaste. As they moved, Technoblade watched his old acquaintance spread dark wings and gently direct the boys’ attention towards the dark, glittering throne where he lounged, his legs propped up over one arm of the chair. 

Even from a distance, he watched their eyes widen in dismay as they caught sight of him waiting for them, and he had to stifle a groan as he straightened, fixing his crown and rolling his shoulders back. He would have to endure this visit as best he could; although, he supposed with feline satisfaction, he  _ was  _ intimidating, and he might as well enjoy it while he could. It had been so long since he had had visitors in the dark corners of the Nether - usually mortals came hunting for treasure and to claim the heads of the creatures living there. But it was clear that this group was here for him, and he had somewhat missed imparting terror in the hearts of innocents. These boys were his perfect subjects, his new playthings. Although if those grubby hands crept towards anything  _ shiny,  _ as he suspected they would, they could have some problems.

He could take whatever shape he wanted, but he liked to play into old legends and become the myth of the Blood God, unforgiving and cruel, even if he had evolved beyond that quite a bit since then. He had stolen many of his features from the Piglin folk that populated much of the Nether, the pointed ears, the tail - the tip of which currently flicking in slight agitation - and his wicked, sharp hooves, making him faster, stronger. Lethal. Although regal, too, imitating a King with noble blood when in reality he was much more; his hair was long and unbound, pooling over the arm of the throne onto the stones, pink and silky despite the heat. Although he never removed his blood red cloak, he changed his armour as he saw fit - on this particular day, his shoulders were barred with dark Netherite spines, his chestplate and hips spiked and jagged. His heels gleamed with angry spurs. He didn’t blame those foolish boys for shying away. 

Yes, he was a King of sorts, and would be treated as such. 

Although it was somewhat difficult to remain serious as his so-called  _ ‘brother’  _ came into the fading light of the white gemstones glittering through the cavern, wings now tucked against his back, and he had to stifle a deep chuckle. 

The pair of dark wither skeletons poised beside his throne moved to attack but Techno held out a hand to freeze them. They, like most things in the Nether, bowed to his command, and now he made them pause to allow his guests to come close.

The corner of his lips twitched in amusement as he cocked his head, taking the trio in.

“Of all the forms I expected you to take, a  _ bird  _ wasn’t one of them.” His voice was deep and unforgiving, although he was wryly amused by the man who had crawled to the foot of his throne and dragged  _ children  _ along with him. He must have been feeling brave!

“You have hooves, good sir, I wouldn’t be so quick to judge.” And his dark, dirty blond-haired kin of sorts had the nerve to  _ grin.  _ He stuck his hand out for him to shake, and gingerly, Techno took the offering. 

“Aren’t  _ you  _ looking delightful as always, P-”

“Phil. Call me Phil.” 

“ _ Phil?”  _ This time, he couldn’t resist his laughter. “Taking human names, now, are we?”

“Indeed. It seems like we’ve both changed.” 

Despite himself, Technoblade showed his sharp teeth, acknowledging this.  _ Phil  _ \- if that was what he so badly wanted to be called - had always been too perceptive for his own good, with those wise and patient eyes that seemed like they could outlast the world itself and could peer right into your darkest secrets. He had always hated it - but there wasn’t much of Phil to hate anymore. Being immortal taught the pair of them some things, one of which being how to tolerate each other, and how to strike up a - reluctant, mind you - mutual respect. And then they were bound together in the eyes of humans, and neither of them could avoid each other even if they wanted to.

Still...

It had been many,  _ many _ years since they had parted ways, had tunnelled back into their respective lands and dedicated themselves wholly to the environments that they represented - Phil, to the sun and sky, and Technoblade, down to nest with the fire and darkness. He wasn’t sure  _ what,  _ exactly, he was supposed to feel looking at this God. Their fates had been twined together, once, so close that the mortals declared them brothers, even though Phil was older and would always have some kind of fatherly wisdom that Technoblade would never grasp, ignoring his  _ actual  _ twin. 

He didn’t want to think about Wilbur. It would bring more trouble than good. He gritted his teeth. 

“Why are you here,  _ Phil?  _ Come to beg for my assistance? Need the legendary Blade - need a Blood God to do your work for you? Grown tired of tending to your little garden?”

“Never,” he said solemnly, and stepped aside to allow the two boys to step into the light, and Technoblade could already sense the questions waiting to burst from their eager tongues as they bounced on their toes. One of them even looked  _ slightly  _ like Phil, with light, scruffy hair and round, gleaming blue eyes; his shirt was slightly singed, as if he had flounced too close to fire. His friend had clearly not been so foolish, his dark hair slightly fluffed in the heat, although his eyes were wide, gaze slightly clouded, as if lost in a trance seeing the Nether supposedly for the first time. Techno stared at them for a moment, then let out a dry burst of laughter.

“Babysitting? Your first word to me in so many eons, and I’m  _ babysitting?”  _

“Hey! I am not a  _ child!”  _ It was the blond, the fiestier of the two. 

“We don’t need  _ babysitting,”  _ his friend added. He had some nerve for a child staring down the King and God of the Nether. In fact, the both of them did. He was almost impressed.

Technoblade cocked his head, and for the first time, he was vaguely intrigued by the pair, studying them acutely. They had guts, he’d give them that, and a recklessness that would get them killed in a world of Gods and monsters. In fact, he was certain the only reason they were alive was because of Phil taking some kind of liking to them.  _ Weak,  _ he thought with a sneer, but also… 

_ Brave. _

Technoblade wouldn’t risk a damn thing for any mortal, but Phil was unafraid of consequence when his morals and his ethics were clearly manipulating his path. It was so  _ noble  _ of him - of course, he had always adopted that persona as a God, the nurturer. Technoblade knew as well as anyone that nature could  _ sting,  _ and that Phil had been merciful to even allow the children to stay alive and be so close to him. They were lucky to be alive.

“This is Tommy and Tubbo,” Phil said, gesturing to the boys as they puffed their chests out and tried to look intimidating. After a moment, he added, “go on. Show him.” 

And somewhat shyly, the boys shifted into a pair of energetic tiny  _ critters  _ \- Technoblade didn’t pretend to know the names of the creatures, since that was a part of Phil’s world that he had never bothered to explore; they had long backs and thin snouts and sharp needle teeth. They hopped around each other, chasing each other between Phil’s legs; he watched them arch their spines, spitting and chittering with each other with growing intrigue. 

So Phil hadn’t brought along any ordinary children - no, he had brought shifters of some shape or size, and from that he knew they had to be descended from a God’s bloodline, someway, somehow. He leaned his head on his hand, somewhat curious despite himself. 

“Are these  _ yours?”  _

“Er, no. They don’t belong to anybody but themselves, but…” He visibly hesitated, a flash of uncertainty barring his features that Technoblade couldn’t miss. “But I have been… uh… supervising their efforts in battle as of late.”

“Efforts in battle?” Technoblade noted the staffs the boys had been clutching, now discarded on the cave floor, and his eyes narrowed. 

The brown-haired boy shifted back into his human form. “Phil taught us how to fight,” he chirped. 

“ _ Did he,  _ now? I doubt you’d find Phil to be a very good teacher.” A lie. Phil had always been the mentor, the guide, the leader, but Technoblade wasn’t about to admit that to his guests. 

“No, he is! He… he taught us everything we know.”

“Which clearly isn’t much.” 

“Then let them prove otherwise,” Phil said, bowing deeply, his smile smug. “I didn’t bring Tommy and Tubbo along for any kind of offering or trade, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He  _ had  _ been considering Phil’s motives, but he wouldn’t accept the children into his ranks even if Phil had bad intent. He knew the God was better than that. “I think this would be a good opportunity for them.” 

“For them to suffer at the hands of the Blood God?” He stretched delicately. “You’re so very responsible,  _ Phil _ .” 

“Your arrogance holds no bounds. I think they’ll manage decently against you.”

His first instinct was to shoo them away with a lazy hand, to chase them away from his territory so he could be left in peace, but something about the eager gleam in the boys’ eyes, desperate to prove themselves and filled with a thirst to be  _ better.  _ Reluctantly, he could respect that. He, too, had been so naive once, so hungry for blood and battle and vengeance in his youth. Now, most days, he was just tired.

They had been fearful of his presence when they first laid eyes upon him, but now they were merely impatiently waiting for him to accept the offering. He wasn’t a force to cower from anymore. As much as he wanted to amend that, he stared at Tubbo and Tommy and saw… saw a spark of Wilbur, his lost twin, his distant brother. Saw a flicker of that passion, that drive, that creativity within them and froze slightly. 

Phil noticed. How could he not? He had grown up observing everything about him, learning to read his body language. 

In his monotone, he said, “No.” 

The boys both looked up, their eyes widening slightly. He couldn’t mistake their withering disappointment - couldn’t feel any sympathy for it, either.

“N-no? What do you mean,  _ no!?”  _ It was Tommy, that reckless, burning bundle of impatience tapping his arrogant little foot on the ground and folding his arms, as if he had the gall to talk back to Technoblade,

He leaned back to lounge across his throne once again, his crown slipping slightly. Pointedly, he turned his head away from the young boys, ignoring them completely, drowning out their soft protests and outbursts. 

“Go back to your garden, Phil,” he said, watching the winged god with sad eyes. “I don’t feel like doing you any favours right now.” 

“This isn’t a favour, Techno, and you know it. I’m calling in that old debt that you haven’t fulfilled. Or did you forget that you owe me?”

Techno hadn’t forgotten, and never would. He had been a reckless God in his youth, before he realised that he was more content dozing on his Nether throne and farming from the lush, reclusive canopies and grasses of places hidden out of sight in his territory. He was reckless enough to warrant the attention of Phil. He hadn’t been called that at the time. His new name was bitter on his tongue; but Technoblade couldn’t deny it. The man had taken care of him when no other was willing to defend a brash, angry young God, had shown him a shred of kindness. It was what he needed - enough to quench the fire burning in his immortal heart, but not quite enough to satisfy his hunger for chaos. That kind of thing had to fizzle out over time. Phil had not hesitated to watch his back through every war - the healer, the peacemaker, keeping a watchful eye on the war-bringer.

Phil had saved his life, once upon a time.

_ “You ever need The Blade to do something for you, ask and I’ll do it. No questions asked. As payment for what you’ve done.”  _ And then, reluctantly, he had added.  _ “You’ve got a brother in the Blood God.”  _

_ “And once I do that one thing for you, we’re even.”  _

_ “Nothing else.” _

_ “No more.” _

He couldn’t forget that.

  
He spluttered, struggling for a moment.

“You… you... you’d waste your  _ debt  _ on a pair of mortal fools?” 

Not a flicker of hesitation crossed Phil’s features. “Exactly.”

“On these  _ brats?”  _

“Precisely.”

Tommy bent down to pick up his staff and cradle it in his palms, knuckles white, not poised to attack, but seemingly lost by his rejection. Technoblade tried not to see Tubbo brush his arm against his friend, tried to ignore his silent reassurance. But he watched nonetheless as Tubbo nestled his head against Tommy’s shoulder easily, as if it was such a familiar motion. As if they were so used to comforting each other. 

No, the world hadn’t been built with them in mind.

“I…” 

“Technoblade, I’m calling in that debt for you to repay.  _ Please -  _ teach the boys what you know. Help them to survive.” 

“Weren’t you enough for them?”

“I figured they need a change in perspective every once in a while. Besides… you’re The Blade. Your reputation precedes you.” 

That it did. Most people knew his name. Mortals recognised that title and lived in fear that the Blood God would come to bring war and destruction on their beautiful lands. Knew what suffering and terror he could unleash, lived and cowered in fear of Phil’s sinister  _ ‘brother’,  _ the reaper of chaos - but he hadn’t touched even a lick of that power for a long time. He was comfortable in the Nether, secluded but content, and he was determined not to give it up. But Phil was watching him with those round, knowing eyes, his green cloak spilling out behind him. He lifted both palms up soothingly; there was something so familiar about the gesture. 

“If not for me,” Phil said, “then for Wilbur.” 

Wilbur had always been far more merciful than him - but who would know, these days? He had trapped himself, closed himself off in the End just as Techno had in the Nether, and the both of them had changed. Even as Gods, nothing could last forever. 

These boys were mortal. Temporary. And even Phil had to recognise that, that these precious things he had grown attached to would fade, one day, and he himself would not. They had such a fragile amount of time, such brief moments to live. 

Slowly and deliberately, Technoblade sat up straight, and with delicate fingers, lifted the crown from his head and placed it on the arm of his throne. 

“Well, then,” he groaned, getting to his hooves with his spurs gleaming, hair tumbling from his throne and pooling on the cavern floor behind him. He had let it grow so long, lazily, uncaringly. “You won’t stop pestering me until I do something for you. If it’s entertaining your little apprentices, then so be it. Perhaps then you’ll leave me alone.”

“I promise you won’t hear from me again, Techno. When we meet again, it’ll be on the battlefield, or not at all. If you really want to be left alone… then so be it.” That was more fitting to The Blade’s standards, but he couldn’t place the feeling of dissatisfaction that writhed into his gut. That… disappointment, unfamiliar as it was, to be left alone in his dark, fiery prison. Just as Wilbur had once isolated himself, closed himself off from the rest of the world, Technoblade would follow his twin, and send Phil away. It felt like what had to happen, the only choice, yet… 

Why was he yearning for something more? He eyed the children darkly, then waved a hand. 

“Very well, Phil.” 

As he watched, Phil drew a pair of hair bands from his coat pocket and waved them around. “Just like old times?” 

He nodded his approval and strode down the slope to his throne, coming to rest before Phil with his brows raised, his gaze sharp and calculating. 

“Tell me,” Phil said, the hint of a wry smile decorating his features. “Where’s the best view in this wretched place?” 

* * *

Phil felt out of place. First he had lost Wilbur to the End where no one could reach him, and then he had lost Techno to the Nether, trapped in his dark prison not by force but by his own sheer force of will. The Blood God was at ease navigating the caverns and leading him back out to where the oceans of lava stung the rim of his eyes into tears and the cliffs kept silent vigil over their solemn path, but Phil felt every lick of heat and the harsh, unforgiving swells of flame and darkness washing over them, flowing and ebbing like tidal waves of heat, and swore under his breath, wondering how Technoblade could find any solace in this place.

Although his ‘brother’ wasn’t entirely content. Technoblade visibly shied away from the light, then forced himself to still his quaking expression, giving him the impression that the God didn’t enjoy leaving his throne so often. Phil cocked his head slightly, one eye trained on the two shapes trotting behind them, ducking away every so often to investigate a crystal, or any small critter, the other watching Technoblade closely. They came across a miniscule, dark appropriation of what Phil knew as a slime, and instantly, Tommy was a polecat, arching his back and spitting at it, batting his paws at it. Tubbo scampered to join him, squeaking indignantly. Phil was moving, prepared to shield them, but a hand wrapped around his wrist. He was surprised to hear Technoblade snort.

“It’s only a magma cube.” 

The animals’ whiskers were twitching as they sniffed it, then darted back as it sprayed lava in their direction, chittering in agitation. 

“It could hurt them,” he protested. 

“It’s harmless.” Techno’s eyes flashed. Perhaps he wanted the boys -  _ his  _ boys - to suffer in exchange for stealing Phil’s attention in the overworld, for stopping him from visiting sooner. Perhaps he had been reluctant to see Technoblade again - perhaps Tommy and Tubbo gave him an excuse to see the God again. So? Didn’t he deserve that? 

“Tommy. Tubbo. Keep up.” His voice was suddenly sharp with concern, fully aware of the threats the Nether faced. So many ways to kill them. They would break so easily. 

They trotted to him, lingering at his feet for a few moments before shifting, grinning lopsidedly. 

“Everything in this place could fuckin’ kill us,” Tommy said importantly, puffing out his chest. “It’s  _ cool.”  _

“Did you see that… hot… lava… thing, Phil? Did you see it?” Tubbo added, stumbling over his words, bouncing on his toes. No one could pretend not to hear Technoblade scoffing, but both boys were undeterred as he led them to a trail twining down the foot of a gorge, and pressed between the cliff walls, he seemed to be a lot more comfortable, his hair swaying behind him as he walked. Under the shelter of a stone roof once again, in the jagged shade, he was himself again. Perhaps, Phil considered, it was similar to his woods. Venturing far from it made him feel young and alive and  _ reckless,  _ but it wasn’t safe in the slightest. It made him vulnerable, and perhaps Technoblade knew that feeling, too. 

The trail widened up into a slope, and as they climbed, Phil was suddenly filled with a peculiar sense of tranquility. As they reached the peak and the path wavered away, the valley suddenly thick with a lush blue jungle, glittering with morning dew and gleaming with a Summer sun that could never reach it here. Peeking through the trees, Phil could see a rocky cliffside overlooking the lava pools, the broad sweeping dark plains of the Nether cupped in the palm of red and black. A plump, curious creature that Phil had never met before glanced their way, and Technoblade rested a hand on its head and stroked it with a thumb soothingly. “It’s only a strider,” he said off-handedly. “Shush. Nothin’ to fear from these guys.” 

He was unsure if he was soothing the strider or his guests. Or both. 

Even his temperament had been altered by his broad territory and the gentle whispers of the azure woods. Quietly, Techno shooed the strider away and dropped to his knees before the cliff, hair spilling out behind him. 

“Go play,” he murmured, and watched Tommy and Tubbo skip away to play tag between the trees. Despite everything, they still had those naive, youthful grins, that innocence that Phil so badly wanted to keep safe. Quietly, he kneeled behind Techno, and with gentle, fatherly fingers, took his hair in his palms and began to plait. 

They were silent for long enough for Phil to wonder if Technoblade was suffering down here, alone, without his twin. If he was lonely. 

Maybe they were all lonely, really. 

Phil had found ways to amuse himself up on the Overworld, hibernating through the long Winters and training Tommy and Tubbo in the Spring and Summer, but down here, Technoblade had nothing but lost travellers and twisted creatures and his own, burning heart. Perhaps he didn’t want to admit that he liked having Phil’s company once again.

In a hushed whisper, he dared to ask: “do you miss Wilbur?” 

He felt Techno flinch under his fingers and his hands stilled for a moment, holding thick strands of pink hair, poised to intertwine, like strings of fate waiting to connect.

The silence was burdened. 

Finally, Techno tilted his chin back slightly and mumbled, “yes”, the invitation for Phil to resume with his hair. Work, and he’d talk. A deal; a fair trade. 

He continued plaiting, his fingers nimbly scooping and lifting and twining his long hair neatly - and even so, it would still fall to his hips. “Me, too,” he said coaxingly. “I bet he still looks the same. Just as you do. You haven’t changed at all, actually; I lied. Your new skin doesn’t change a thing.” 

After a moment, he felt Techno nod. “You, too. You have wings now, but you’re still the same God you always were. Always thinking you could father us - could save us all.” 

“I still can.” His voice cracked.

“You - we - couldn’t save Wilbur, and now he’s stuck in the End. I left our brethren of my own free will. And now you’re trying to save these… these…  _ children.  _ Will you ever stop trying to find something new to love? _ ”  _

“They need me.”

“And when they don’t? What then?”

“That’s why I need you to be yourself today, Techno. To, er… help me prepare them for that day when those boys are on their own again.” 

“Again?” 

Despite himself, Technoblade rippled with curiosity, pausing to lift his head over his shoulder to look at Phil questioningly. 

Phil swallowed, his fingers stilling slightly, woven in Technoblade’s hair. “As Gods, even we had someone to guide us, to teach us. I taught others in return; I taught  _ you _ . Everyone had  _ someone.  _ We had a family, before Wilbur…” He choked. “Those boys had no one but each other. They’re orphans, rejected from every town or traveling camp they stumbled across. They grew up alone, until I found them. And if I hadn’t, they…” 

_ “Orphans,” _ Technoblade scoffed under his breath. “You think a tragic backstory will make me care?” 

“No. But I was hoping that you’d  _ try.  _ For my sake.”

“And for Wilbur’s.” 

For Wilbur, for the God Phil had learnt to think of as his lost family, he would try, too.

He came to realise that the air was quiet and contemplative - unusual, for having Tommy and Tubbo close by, and coughed awkwardly, lifting his voice. They had to be far, if it was so calm. “Tommy! Tubbo! Don’t stray too far!” 

Techno stifled a mocking chuckle, but didn’t say a word.

“So you’ll do it?” He hastily resumed his work, having to bend to reach the strands of hair on the forest floor so that Technoblade didn’t realise the sudden, unbroken vulnerability of the conversation. “You’ll try?” 

“I…” He heard the Blood God’s breath catch in his throat, the sound of him grinding his teeth, his voice deep and gruff. “You know what Wilbur would say.”

“He’d tell you to suck it the fuck up and entertain those feral children,” Phil said, grinning through his teeth, and it was almost as if he could feel Wilbur’s spirit resting beside him, giving that playful grin with his beanie lopsided, his eyes gleaming as if planning something mischievous. He was always planning, that God. Always experimenting, always exploring. 

“He would.” He could hear the smile he was trying to keep clamped behind his lips. “... Phil?” 

“Hm?” 

_ “I miss Wilbur.”  _

Phil had the sense that was the first time he’d uttered those words in quite a long time. He blinked, and swallowed, letting the tips of his feathers brush the Blood God’s arm. 

_ I’m with you, brother.  _ He didn’t dare to utter the words aloud.

Phil shifted so that he could reach the tips of Techno’s hair, twisting the band around the tufts. The plait was sturdy enough, he reflected, and impressive despite it being years since he had had to tie it back for the Blood God’s wars. His youngest God years had been spent preparing Technoblade for battle. It was such a familiar gesture, so trusting, that Techno could hardly muster up an argument. He was certain that his old friend had some kind of protest, some reason in that monotone voice of his to reject Tommy and Tubbo, to send them away. Let Phil deal with them.

So he was still startled when Technoblade got to his feet, hooves splayed and flipping his hair behind him. 

“Phil. We’re gonna get Wilbur back.”

“Wha…?” He had long since come to terms with Wilbur trapping himself in the End beyond reach, but seeing Techno again had erupted an intense and gutted desire to piece his broken family back together. But did Wilbur even want to be found? 

“We can do it.” Technoblade said easily when Phil didn’t reply. “You and me, we’re Gods. We can figure it out without a problem. We can… we can find a way.” 

“Is there even a way?” 

“Of course there is.” He left no room for doubt, his hands curled into fists. 

Phil was silent and he began to walk, treading deeper into the forest. Techno didn’t bother following him, although he shifted in his hooves, his plait swaying. 

“I think,” Phil said, “we should work towards getting Wilbur out of the End. I think that’s what we need - to have our brother back. Do you know the way?” 

“Of course I do.” The silence swelled. “Well, okay, maybe not. But how hard could it be? We’re  _ Gods,  _ for goodness sake. Now that you bothered to come to visit… we have things to do, the two of us.”   
  


“You were waiting for me?”

“I…  _ no.  _ The Blood God doesn’t wait for anybody.” But Phil had already felt that hesitation like a dagger, tasted the lie in the empty air. He lifted his wings slightly, fighting the groan of his back, letting his feathers catch fallen dew from the trees. Techno stayed on the cliff, holding himself, as if afraid to move away, to let go of his self-control. His calm was suddenly sinister, determined, and Phil knew that he wouldn’t rest until he got his twin back by his side; Phil had spurred that kindle of hope within him.

_ The Blood God doesn’t wait for anybody. But Technoblade…  _

Well, he wasn’t called the Blood God for nothing. 

_ The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb,  _ and Techno would die with that carved into his immortal heart. His family meant more than anything to him. Or it had, before things had changed. 

He jumped slightly as Tommy tumbled out of the foliage, bright leaves and branches clinging to his frame, holding a badly carved wooden axe in his grasp, Tubbo stumbling out from behind him with a similarly made sword. Both weapons were uneven and jagged, and made in a rush, but their eyes were wholly serious. They stood shoulder to shoulder, leaning on each other. “Cower at our presence,  _ Blood God!”  _

Techno turned to them, then let out a cold, deep laugh. “They’ve got guts, I’ll give ‘em that, Phil.” 

“Don’t talk about us like we’re not here!” Tubbo protested. 

“Yeah. Uh,  _ bitch.”  _ Tommy grinned hastily, showing his braces. 

Technoblade merely lifted a hand and a sharp, gleaming crossbow appeared in his fingers, poised to shoot. “You kids want to be heroes, huh? The stuff of legends and myths? Is that what Phil’s teaching you to be?”

Tubbo opened his mouth, but the Blood God cut him off. “Well take it from me,  _ boys.  _ I’m the myth you were raised to fear. I’m your nightmares, your fears, your doubts. I’m the legend that  _ never dies. _ You should know by now;  _ nothing good comes of heroes.”  _

“But-” 

“If you live like a hero, you’ll die like one. I know Phil won’t tell you the truth, thinking he’s doin’ you some good, but someone has to force you kids to face reality.” 

“The Overworld is a harsh place,” Phil protested, wings quivering. “They have to be ready. Who better to be a teacher than a King of the Nether?” 

“I don’t think I’d do well as a teacher,” Technoblade replied coolly. “That’s more your thing, Phil.” 

Phil didn’t take his eyes off the crossbow. “Maybe… uh, put the weapon down, little brother. I’d prefer for these ones  _ not  _ to be shot, thank you. They’re not quite like you or I.” 

“No,” Techno sneered, his eyes judging as he looked at Tommy and Tubbo, the silent reminders of all that he had lost. “That much is clear to me.”

Tommy let out an angry tell as he charged and leaped, axe raised above his head. Phil’s wings flared out as Tubbo shot forward, but he didn’t dare to move, letting it happen. Perhaps that had been Techno’s intent, to taunt them into a fight. Perhaps this was his twisted sense of training, manipulating them into battle. Surely…

But he was so far away, reluctant to help. He couldn’t keep fighting their battles on their behalf. He had deemed them ready for Technoblade, and he wouldn’t go back on his promise now.

Their makeshift weapons were a valiant effort, but without Phil’s help, they were no match for Technoblade. As skilled as Phil could be, his brother was better. He had been born with battlefields in mind. He watched, helpless, as Techno leaped, sweeping out his leg with a God’s precision and sending Tubbo sprawling to the ground, and with a growl of protest, Tommy swung. As if it was nothing more than plastic, Techno seized the handle of the axe in a hand and tossed it aside, clearly expecting to wrench it out of his meek grasp. His eyes were determined. 

No, they had never met an enemy quite like this.

But Tommy held on. Always holding on, always clinging to whatever he could scavenge - people like Tubbo, currently with Techno’s hoof planted against his chest, holding him down no matter how much he struggled. Whatever Tommy had, he guarded with every ounce of him, even if he was weaker, smaller. 

He held on and as the God flung the axe off the cliff, Tommy went with it. 


	3. intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Certain parties learn to get along...

“Tommy!”

In that brief moment where Technoblade could see the whites of Tommy’s eyes, stretched wide in terror, in the realisation that death was knocking at his doorstep, he tensed. He felt Tubbo lunge, kick out frantically from under his hooves and scramble for the edge, shrieking for Tommy, leaning out and trying to grab him. Technoblade saw their fingertips touch. 

Not enough. Too late. 

Tommy screamed, and it was such a terrified, mortal sound. 

It spurred Phil into action. He was already moving, lunging from the cliff in a mighty bound. Technoblade saw the world hesitate, stumble on behalf of the God, his wings snapping out for his feathers to catch the slight breeze wafting from the bubbling lava and diving, body focused on a tangent. Technoblade could hardly stare for so long - the lava was so bright. Phil,  _ brighter,  _ burning with determination, glowing as he swept for Tommy’s frail, falling body and crashing into him. Techno was frozen, hearing a cry of pain from the openness as the pair of them fell before Phil managed to bank to the side. 

The boy - that stupid, foolish boy - was tucked against Phil’s chest as his wings carried him over the lava - red and orange spat over them and he saw, even at a distance, Phil winced as lava hit his arm. The pain wouldn’t last long, but so far away from the Overworld, in another dimension entirely, it would still be moments before the sting faded. 

  
Tubbo was leaning over the edge of the cliff, hands grasping the crumbling rock, staring out across the lake with wide eyes. He had seen his friend so close to death. Had seen his mentor skimming so close to the lava. It would have shaken any mortal, let alone a teenager. 

Technoblade let out a hiss between his teeth as Tubbo craned forward. 

“Get away from the edge, you idiot-” 

Tubbo shrieked as he slipped, scrabbling frantically as he twisted, trying to claw his way back up the cliff - but as the rocks fell out from under him and he sent dark pebbles down to the lava, Techno had to bite down the urge to fulfill what was, in fairness, an  _ ‘I told you so’  _ moment. 

For a moment, Tubbo held on by his fingertips, clinging to the ledge with all of his frail strength. This was the boy who had been training with Phil, he remembered, and he had to admit that he had strength to that frame, and he had determination if nothing else. This was one of Phil’s legacies, the product of his nurturing, his compassion. The ultimate reflection of who he was as a God, sewed into the young pair. There was something persistent in those warm, soft eyes that… that seemed so familiar… 

Without thinking, Technoblade lunged and seized Tubbo’s wrists between his fingers. Those hands built for destruction, bearing the weight of this breakable little  _ thing  _ that dangled beneath him. And holding him there, Tubbo whimpering through his teeth, kicking out his legs as Technoblade didn’t move to drag him back up. In sudden fear.

There was a shred of Phil in this boy, surely. But yet… 

It was the sensation that he was looking at  _ Wilbur  _ \- if Wilbur was a gangly teen dangling from a cliff - that made Technoblade hesitate. Made him stare down at Tubbo in horror. 

No wonder Phil had gotten so damn attached to both of them, now that Technoblade had had an opportunity to observe them. The way they moved, the way they looked out for each other - the way they  _ cared.  _ They were practically twins, or brothers at least, as close as the trio of Gods had once been before Wilbur trapped himself in the End and Technoblade had isolated himself in the Nether once more.

Phil watched in horror as he changed hasty directions, wings beating his path to the left to veer towards Tubbo, but what could he do? He already had Tommy in his arms. He couldn’t catch them both.

And he could almost picture Phil’s face. He could see Tommy, that little menace, cheeks tear-streaked, but Phil would be hollow. Empty. Losing someone he cared about, being forced to live a dozen lifetimes over, to  _ last  _ while the boys grew old, would shatter him. 

Even Wilbur wouldn’t fill that hole. Since when had Phil been so swayed by  _ orphans?  _ He had to stifle a snort of disgust. Although he had to admit…

There was something to be pitied in those eyes. Sympathised with, even.

“Technoblade!” Tubbo gasped out. “Technoblade, help me!”

Technoblade’s nails, his claws, were digging into Tubbo’s wrists. A trickle of blood snaked down his arm.

Red, not gold. 

Nothing like Wilbur. 

He could drop this orphan, and he wouldn’t crawl out of the depths, flickering with his immortality and living to roar curses at whoever threw him to the wolves. He would sink. He would die. 

Technoblade was frozen where he stood for a moment, hooves splayed and digging into the dirt, back arched to support himself. He supposed it wouldn’t be too tragic if he slipped over the edge too, but it would be embarrassing, and Phil would never let him live it down. Tubbo helplessly cried up at him, flailing in his grip. 

“Please-” 

In one rough, jagged movement, Technoblade hauled Tubbo from the cliff and tossed him to the ground, safely away from the edge. He swayed, then righted himself, brushing blood from his hands. In the same moment, Phil tumbled to the ground, wings flapping at an awkward angle, Tommy cradled in his arms - and that angry, boisterous kid buried his head in Phil’s shoulder, arms curled awkwardly around his back, fingers squeezing his cloak. “I didn’t fucking mean to, Phil, I swear-” His accent was thick as he babbled, unsure of himself. It seemed as if he was trying to thank him, but couldn’t quite say it outright as so not to damage his pride. “I shoulda listened.”

Phil’s arm was already healing, pale skin knitting over the burn, singed with gold rather than red, but he was still wincing in pain. He had hurt himself for Tommy. Tubbo had almost tumbled into  _ lava  _ for Tommy. 

Technoblade tried to keep the shake out of his steps as he got to his feet, and instantly Tubbo was crawling to try and block Phil and Tommy from him.

Phil’s wings curled around Tommy,  _ shielding  _ him _. _

Something in Techno’s immortal heart stirred at that.

“Are you finished throwing my boys off cliffs, brother? If you’re not inclined to humour them, we’ll leave.” The boys both glanced up, and by their startled gazes, he assumed they hadn’t been labelled as  _ Phil’s  _ anything. The God was claiming them as his, at least for a little while. Technoblade couldn’t do a damn thing while they were  _ his.  _

He halted, and through his sharp teeth, he said, “get up.”

“Eh?” 

Obediently, Tubbo hauled himself upright, and slowly, Tommy did the same. Quietly, the boy pressed his shoulder against Tubbo’s, a silent reminder that they were both safe and together.

Barely. 

Only thanks to Technoblade and Phil. They were strong, he’d give them that, but still reckless. Still risking everything. He supposed that was a common theme with mortals. Being so temporary, what choice did they have but to live every second with such a zest?

He supposed it  _ would  _ be quite unfortunate if one of them died. 

“ _ Your boys  _ had best mind their tongues while we travel, or lava will be the least of their worries,” Technoblade said gruffly, and in one fluid motion, Phil stood to offer his hand to him. 

“You mean it? We’re going for Wilbur?”

Hesitantly, Techno took his hand and shook it, nodding his agreement. “We’re going for Wilbur. You can bring your nuisances, I suppose.” 

“Nuisances?” Tommy barked out, a hint of fiery protest already weaseling back into his spirit. He wouldn’t stay shaken for long. “Excuse you, we aren’t-”

“You just threw him into a lava pool!” Tubbo snapped. 

“An accident,” he said dismissively, tucking one hoof behind the other and bowing mockingly. “Tommy could have let go of the axe any time. Not my fault he’s stubborn.” 

“I… thought I could get it out of your claws,” Tommy muttered. He might have beaten Phil by pure chance, or some kind of mercy, but Techno wasn’t as fond of orphans. 

“I almost admire your stupidity.  _ Almost _ . You almost died for it.”

“I dunno. Maybe I’m willing to die for what I believe in.”

Even Phil seemed to be holding his breath.

“You believe in a shitty axe?” He tried to avoid swearing where he could, but he figured it was relevant to appeal to the kids. 

“I believe in stickin’ up for my friends.” He puffed out his chest, and Tubbo grinned. Techno merely snorted, vaguely amused. They were… entertaining, at the very least. Slightly comedic, if not annoying. He wondered how he’d survive any kind of journey with the pair of shifters, and had to trust Phil to at least  _ try  _ to keep them in order. 

“We’ll see what good  _ friendship  _ does you,” Technoblade said, shrugging, deliberately turning his shoulder to the pair of them as he strode to Phil, long hair swinging behind him. “Friendship didn’t save my brother. It’s hard work and determination that will bring him back.” 

“Your brother…?” 

Despite themselves, they seemed curious, with round eyes eager for knowledge. Technoblade watched them warily as he halted beside Phil, brother of water rather than blood, debating if it was worth telling them anything about what motivated him. 

They might start to think they could control a God. Dangerous, to start getting cocky. Just because they had Phil wrapped around their fingers, didn’t mean Techno was as impressionable. Or Wilbur, for that matter. 

“Yes, my brother. Wilbur. He…” He didn’t know where to begin describing Wilbur. He was everything and nothing all at once. “My twin.” 

“The legends never said you had a twin.” 

“Don’t trust fairytales, kid. Wilbur was… he was the God of music, of art, of sunlight. Where Phil was always bound to the Overworld, Wilbur was… a shifter. Like you.” 

“He’s like us?” Tubbo’s eyes lit up. Finding shifters was rare from a mortal’s perception. Those kinds of blessings didn’t happen often.

“He’s… flexible, to put it that way.” 

“What animal can he shift to!?” Tommy said, bouncing slightly. 

“I  _ said,  _ he’s flexible. Wilbur can be anything he wants to be.” 

“Oh!” Tubbo shifted onto his paws and then back again, just to prove he could.

“Your Phil has always been a seasonal God. That’ll never change, no matter how far he strays from home. But me and my twin… we could go wherever we please, be whatever the Hell we want to be. I chose to bind myself to the Nether. Wilbur trapped himself in the End, and only old myths can bring him back. That’s talk of Ancient Gods. I’m old,  _ Tommy, _ but not  _ that  _ old.” 

“You  _ look  _ old.” 

“You little-”

“Well,  _ okay,  _ then, such disputes can be settled on the road,” Phil cut in, laughing in quiet delight but certainly not willing to stir either of them up - not yet, anyway. “You’ll have to restrain from murder and various other illegal activities.”

“Only illegal in the Overworld,” Technoblade tutted. “In the Nether, there’s not much sense of  _ right  _ and  _ wrong.  _ Phil, if I want to dropkick some orphans, then there’s not much stopping me-”

“- but me,” Phil finished, looking uncomfortable. “You’re smarter than that, though, Technoblade.”

He had to admit that he was. He had to give himself a bit more credit for his self-restraint.

And he doubted those kids who reminded him so strongly of himself and Wilbur would die so easily.  _ Phil  _ had trained them; they were at least slightly tough if they had survived this long. Perhaps there was something special about them… 

Or maybe, he thought wryly as he watched them shift into their mammal forms and scamper into the azure undergrowth, they were nothing but ordinary, and from the looks of their wild, eager eyes, there was nothing else they’d rather be. 

* * *

“Tell me about Wilbur,” Tommy begged - demanded, even.  _ Of course _ , Techno thought dryly. They had been raised on legends of the Gods, from their destruction to their mercy. He couldn’t blame Tommy for being curious. But still...

Technoblade wasn’t in the mood. They had spent a day or two harvesting blaze rods in the Nether, but they all knew that they’d have to drag the _monotonous_ and ‘grumpy’, in Tubbo’s words, Technoblade from his solitary sooner or later. Already, his eyes weren’t handling the Summer or sunshine well, and was half-sluggish in the sticky heat. 

When Phil went to the nearest traveller’s camp hunting for something or other, Technoblade was dozing, the jagged half of a skull slung over his head, shielding his eyes. Phil wondered where he had found it, or if he had conjured it in his own power. He had certainly taken to making what suited him, chuckling when Tommy and Tubbo watched him enviously. He had crafted a trident to appear in his palm, glowing, and now it rested in the grass by his side. Tubbo and Tommy, both in their human forms, had taken to pestering him when they got left behind - perhaps they didn’t know how to amuse themselves when they didn’t have another responsible adult to bug. 

Why Phil would trust Technoblade to be a responsible guardian in the first place was beyond him. 

Without him, Tommy and Tubbo were left to their own devices, which generally meant that Techno was supervising them even when he didn’t want to. As he sprawled against a log, skull lowered over his eyes and hooves stretched lazily in the grass, Tommy’s prodding and prying wasn’t exactly  _ peaceful.  _

“I am asleep and simply cannot be disturbed,” he grunted, his braided hair coiled in the grass behind him. He didn’t want to talk about Wilbur as if he was nothing but a memory when they were fighting to get him back, when Phil was working to save him. He should have been doing more - he knew that, wouldn’t stop thinking about it, but when he could barely stand to be in the sun for too long it wasn’t so easy.

Curled in the shade, it was easier to bear that angry brightness, but not so easy to entertain a pair of his brother’s shifter children. Did that make him their uncle? Not by blood, mind you, but he supposed he was the best they’d get.

“But you’re awake,” Tubbo said pointedly. 

“No, no. Mentally, I am slumbering. I cannot be awoken.” 

“But we wanna know about Wilbur-” 

“You’ll meet him soon enough,” he snapped. “You can ask  _ him  _ whatever’s on your minds.”

“Oh.” 

“Oh, okay.” 

“We just want to know more about shifters, s’all.” 

Technoblade’s tail-tip twitched, half in agitation, half in amusement. “I could transform into something awful and eat you, if I really wanted to.”

They were undeterred. They were brave, he had to give them that.

“Is it just a God thing, that you can shift into whatever you want?”

“Yes.” 

“So is that why we got stuck with a polecat and a stoat?” 

“Yes. You’re not Gods. You can only control so much.” 

“Why do we-” 

“Do you  _ always  _ ask so many questions?” Technoblade scoffed. 

“I mean, it’s not our fault we don’t know everything.” Tommy folded his arms. “You’re the fuckin’ God here, aren’t you?”

_ The nerve of this kid!  _ But, Technoblade thought, as he fumbled for a thread of rage and found nothing but a dry laugh, he wasn’t offended. Just amused by them, and their mortal naivety, their foolishness. It was suddenly insignificant to him. He wouldn’t gain much by hurting them. It wouldn’t be a sweet victory. It’d be  _ cruel,  _ he realised, to abuse his power that way, to attack Phil’s weakness like that. He wouldn’t feel good with himself. 

He heard them scuffle for a moment, and then the log he was leaning against shuddered, a pair of bodies trying to mimic him. 

“Tubbo, d’ya reckon I’d look cool with a skull like that?”

“Yeah!” 

“Absolutely not,” Techno cut in, laughing as Tommy huffed his disapproval.

His eyes shifted to the weapon by his side. “What about a trident? I’ve never had a trident before.” 

“It’s a bit too big for you,” Techno said, savouring Tommy spluttering, even though neither of the boys were exactly  _ short.  _

As he settled back comfortably, tucking his arms behind his head, he could sense Tommy’s hands wandering, his mind rolling over the possibilities as he took in the God, practically blind and oblivious. As Tommy stretched out a hand, nimble fingers reaching to grasp the trident, Technoblade merely said, “I’d think with Phil as a mentor you wouldn’t resort to thievery.”

He chuckled, low and deep, at the sharp intake of breath. He sat up and lifted the skull from his head, wincing slightly as the brightness of the wilderness jutted at his vision, raising his brow at Tommy, frozen in place, one hand wrapped around his trident. 

“We didn’t always have Phil,” Tommy snapped, instantly defensive.

Technoblade leaned forward, baring his teeth. “Didn’t  _ anyone  _ teach you not to take things that don’t belong to you?”

“I mean,  _ no,  _ but-”

“But I just-” 

He snatched the trident back, staring down at them, and after a moment he cocked his head. “Did Phil, like,  _ adopt  _ you? Is that it?” 

“Well, no…” Tubbo flushed slightly. 

“Do you live with him?” 

“No.”

Looking at them both - Tommy, in particular, still staring determinedly at the trident - he began to understand. Technoblade had never known hunger, had never been powerless (save for losing Wilbur). These boys, though… they took what they wanted, but he suddenly realised that they had always been scavenging for what they needed, too. They were too used to trying to survive to be polite to a God who represented everything that had been taken from them; their hands had been raised to steal and cheat. 

“That’s why we don’t go to the camps anymore,” Tubbo said suddenly, ignoring a look of warning from Tommy. “They chased us out.” 

“So we’re stuck here with you while Phil gets to do the  _ fun  _ stuff.”

“Phil’s probably fighting evil while we sit here with you.” 

That, he was offended by. A pair of lanky teenage boys could call him whatever names they liked - but calling him  _ boring?  _ That was pushing it. 

After a moment, Technoblade stood, using his arm to shield his eyes from the sun. “Phil should have taught you that physical strength is nothing compared to a different kind of power.”

They both stared blankly at him. 

Finally, Tubbo said awkwardly, “Phil showed us how to be strong. We weren’t tough until we met him.” 

Technoblade rolled his eyes. “You think I  _ want  _ to be in the sun and the heat? You think I enjoy babysitting? Nah. It’s not physical strength that helps me survive. It’s my determination. That’s the only thing that will free my brother.” 

“Wilbur,” said Tubbo in a small voice. 

“Yes. Wilbur. It’s not the same for mortals, but I suppose  _ you’d  _ call it love. I won’t rest until he’s out of the End.”

That managed to shut them up, and Techno wondered if they were considering each other, thinking that they’d go to the End to save each other if it came to it. 

“Now,” he said, raising a brow. “Are you scared of me?”

“No,” Tommy said instantly, puffing out his chest. 

“Good.”  _ Not a shred of respect, either.  _ “Then it shouldn’t be a problem for you to just  _ ask  _ for my trident. Don’t steal my stuff.”

They just stared at him. Perhaps they thought that he was going to keep talking, had more lessons to impart, but he wasn’t like Phil. He didn’t like being fatherly in the slightest, and already was shying his gaze away, barely acknowledging the teens as if refusing to admit he had ever tried to be  _ nice. _ He leaned back, stretching slightly as he waited, trying to keep his eyes patient. 

It was Tubbo who clicked first. 

“Oh _. Oh.  _ Uh, Technoblade, can I have - uh, borrow - your trident?” 

He handed it over, and he watched Tubbo’s eyes round in silent delight as he burst to his feet, gaping. “Oh!” 

Tubbo darted in the direction of a nearby lake, whooping his delight.

Tommy stared, then turned to him, eyes burning. “Technoblade, I need - I…” He fumbled with the words. “Can I please have a trident?” And as an afterthought, under his breath, he added, “ _ bitch” -  _ he had his reputation to maintain, after all.

  
Techno watched him for a long moment, then conjured a long, glowing trident into Tommy’s lap. He watched the boy beam from ear to ear, his eyes bright with wild contentment. He swallowed his amusement as he sprinted off without so much as a ‘thank you’, chasing after Tubbo and half-tackling him into the lake, their delighted laughter drifting to where Technoblade sat.

“Technoblade! Techno, watch me, am I doing this right?” 

He jumped, forcing himself to watch. Using the power endowed in each trident, he stared as Tommy was shot out of the water, shrieking in delight, and as Tubbo joined him in mid-air, they took playful swings at each other. 

He rolled his eyes slightly. He didn’t care - and had to tell himself that, even as he was suddenly moving, using his arm to shield his eyes from the sun and the sky and walking.  _ I don’t care about Phil’s little mortals.  _

He tried, really. It wasn’t as if he sympathised with them - the thieves, the orphans. Wasn’t as if he could love. He was just helping Phil -  _ and that’s all. That’s it.  _

He stopped on the bank of the lake, and willed a trident into his hand, this one golden and gleaming. As he stood there, watching the shapes in the sky over his head, he realised that Tommy and Tubbo were shape-shifting in mid-air, trying to shift and grab the tridents as they fell. And, to his surprise, it was  _ working.  _ Tubbo leaped by himself, in a smooth arc propelled by his trident, shifted to slash at the azure sky with his claws and tumbled after the trident. As he landed, Tommy leapt, and they took turns like that. Sometimes they took playful swings at each other, others the air was full of their crows of delight and gleeful splashing. Techno took a hold of his braid, and began to coil it, up into a neat bun that he hastily pinned to his neck. 

Tommy noticed him, and shouted. “Technoblade! So you’re not a pussy after all!”

“No one is calling me that.” He raised his brow, wading into the shallows so that his trident could connect with the water. “Certainly not  _ you.”  _

And in one fluid motion, he sprang, spraying drops of water around him as he felt himself flying. Floating for just a brief moment, lingering in the sky. He squinted, his eyes rimmed with glistening tears from the sheer brightness of it all, but after a moment the world opened up before him. The sky, in his palm. The Overworld, clutched between his fingers. Every colour sharp and precise. Everything in its place, everything seemed to fit - well, everything but the two bodies that leaped into his vision, whooping. 

Technoblade fell, breathing tight in his chest, thrilled by his helplessness. He had intended to critique them, somehow, to ridicule them. But this wasn’t exactly training, was it? It was  _ fun. _

He wondered how the Hell he’d explain to Phil, when he returned, how he ended up soaking wet in a lake, laughing along with Tommy and Tubbo as if he had never threatened them. 

* * *

Legends spoke of the guardian of the End. Wilbur hadn’t been born to that solitary plane, just as Techno hadn’t been born to rule the Nether, but they both found themselves where they belonged nonetheless. Technoblade himself was determined that Wilbur  _ didn’t  _ belong there - was waiting for them, calling out to his twin, begging for rescue. 

“There’s nothing that can stop us,” Technoblade growled, and whilst the confidence was appreciated, it was in fact Tommy and Tubbo who had to break the unfortunate news to the God. After so long in the Nether, he wasn’t exactly well versed on the myths of the End. 

The pair of mortals, however, were. 

“There’s a fuckin’ dragon and shit,” Tommy said, loudly, and in an instant, both Techno and Phil’s attention was on him. Tubbo grinned, obviously pleased.

“Excuse me?” Technoblade said, dangerously quiet. His monotonous, somewhat dark presence had grown on the boys since his arrival, since he had grudgingly obliged in teaching them combat beyond Phil’s Overworld capabilities. Unfortunately, that generally meant them earning countless cuts and bruises from him - they supposed The Blade had a reputation to uphold just as the two of them did, and had to deliver. Techno wasn’t afraid to hurt them under the guise of what he called ‘constructive harm’, to Phil’s protests, to which he would merely reply,  _ “this is why you came to me for help.”  _

“Did you not know about the dragon?” Tubbo said with false sweetness, with that smug smile that made the adults uneasy. Tommy could never quite manage it, couldn’t fight the  _ bite  _ from his words.

“Yeah. Dragon.” 

“ _ Dragon,”  _ Phil echoed flatly. Though it seemed that Technoblade would never quite grow used to the grass and the trees and the angry sun watching over them all, Phil was right at home under the canopies. He was sunning his wings in the patches of sunlight in the clearing where they crouched, Techno in particular sitting under a tree in the shade. In his hand, he held a single dark ender pearl, glittering with power. 

“There’s books about it,” Tubbo said, glancing sideways at Tommy. “Myths and legends and stuff. The guardian of the End.” He looked suddenly uncomfortable with all of the eyes on him. “I thought we were prepared for this.” 

“We would have been, if we knew,” Phil said gently. 

“We’re Gods. I think a dragon is no match for us,” Technoblade said coolly. “Perhaps Tommy and Tubbo will be burnt to a crisp, though.” 

“Hey!” 

“Kidding.” His voice was amused. “Ugh. Trust Wilbur to have a  _ pet  _ in the loneliest dimension.” 

“It’s supposed to have been there for centuries,” Tubbo said, puffing out his chest. It had actually been Tommy to read that information out to him in the hidden corners of a library when the letters had been swimming off the page, but if there was ever a good listener, it was Tubbo. His memory was brilliant. As he began to prattle off recounts of the Ender Dragon over the past centuries, Tommy was impressed. He didn’t remember half of what he was spouting. 

“- so it had to have been there before Wilbur was trapped.” 

Technoblade looked thoughtful. “Gods can only die at the hands of other Gods, but they can be rendered useless. If this dragon is as powerful as you say…” 

“Wilbur needs us,” Phil finished simply, grinning at Tubbo and Tommy. All at once, a sense of pride coated them, gentle and loving. Phil was a force to be reckoned with, but gain his approval and it felt like home. “Where would we be without our boys?” 

_ Our boys. _

Technoblade snorted at that, but he didn’t protest. He had been just as responsible for them over the past few weeks, and they were still alive. That counted for something. And it felt  _ good,  _ to be claimed by something, someone important, to be endowed with that purpose. Tommy felt himself grinning, reckless as always, Tubbo a constant presence by his side. They had had years to know each other, to learn each other’s blind spots. Now they  _ fit.  _

Technoblade lifted his head, and as they stared, he crushed a blaze rod in his fist. Amber powder, glowing as if aflame, wavered in the wind, settling on the ender pearl in his grasp. With a God’s arm, he tossed the pearl up, into the sky, and over their heads Tommy watched it change. The pearl was an eye, blinking lazily at them,  _ moving  _ as if alive. And it drifted, like a compass angled to the West. With an awful popping noise, it dropped, and Phil caught it. 

Tommy kept his distance. Just in case. It seemed like the eye was watching him, waiting for him to make a fatal mistake. 

Phil sniffed the air, and grinned. “Hey, Techno, how fast do you think you could travel with a trident if it’s raining?” 

Technoblade looked up, and sure enough, the sky was greying in the distance. “Fast,” he said with a grim smile. “Too fast for you lot to keep up.” 

As if in answer, Phil flared his wings, and Tommy and Tubbo both shifted, spitting through their needle teeth and running in circles, chittering their protest. Their bodies were sleek and well-groomed after weeks of eating well.

  
“Well, then,” Technoblade said, hoisting his trident over his shoulder. “Game on.”


End file.
